


five times tony stark loses peter parker

by bstarship



Series: 5+1 things [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Can't Cook, Tony Stark Has A Heart, and maybe a therapist, peter parker probably needs a child leash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25721149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: And the one time Peter thinks he may have lost Tony.orSometimes Peter Parker is a little hard to keep track of.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: 5+1 things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906720
Comments: 37
Kudos: 276





	five times tony stark loses peter parker

**Author's Note:**

> :D

**I.**

It’s a normal night. Tony is breaking his back over a chicken stir fry while Stevie Wonder plays throughout the kitchen. Pepper, who has been working late the past few nights, always comes home to dinner and music—plus, her oddly eccentric fiancé serenading her with a wooden spatula. He can be found with a dish towel draped across his shoulder with oil and teriyaki stains down the front, and he will commonly be seen in a Black Sabbath tee that has had its fair share of washes. It’s the sweet feeling of domesticity that dampens and distracts whatever noise is in his brain. It’s a normal night.

FRIDAY interrupts “Higher Ground” when the front door unlocks, but it isn’t to vocalize Miss Potts’ arrival. Tony lowers the temperature of the burner and leans against the counter.

_“It’s strange, boss—Mister Parker has been in the suit for the past two hours, but I can no longer find a signal on his tracker.”_

Tony furrows his brows. “Okay, so, he took off the suit?”

 _“The suit was not powered down,”_ the AI answers. _“The connection was just… lost.”_

Lost. Tony doesn’t like the sound of that. Nothing is ever lost, but sometimes things can’t be found. “Run some diagnostics. Maybe there’s been a malfunction, or—”

_“Everything is working as it normally should, boss, but I’m not receiving any information about Mister Parker’s whereabouts.”_

With a sigh, Tony sets down the dish towel and rubs beside his eyes. “So, you’re saying he removed the tracker.”

_“I’m saying he removed the tracker.”_

“Jesus fucking—oh, hi honey, how are you?” He grins at his wife, and it’s one of those plastic smiles that is only a cause for more concern. “How was work? Make any new friends today?”

Pepper returns his smile, although hers is tight and wary, and she slowly sets her belongings down onto the marble countertop. “Yeah. Tons. So, I hear you’re missing the kid.”

“Missing is an overstatement,” Tony says as he rounds the corner of the counter. He places his hand on Pepper’s waist to kiss her good evening. “I’m making the best damn stir fry you will ever have in your life. You excited? You should be excited.”

She laughs quietly, closing her eyes and shaking her head while he returns to the stovetop. “I am _so_ excited. But, I can also take it from here if you need to go find your Spider-Kid.”

Tony waves a hand. “He removes the tracker once a month, _at least_. I’m not gonna let it ruin a good dinner that will absolutely knock your socks off. Here—” He lifts a piece of chicken up onto the spatula. “Prepare to be blown away.”

Pepper is hesitant, yet she tries the food nevertheless. She chews and smiles tightly before she hums. “Yes. Wow. Blown away.” She reaches over and turns the burner up. “Cold.”

“Shit.”

“Tony,” she says.

“That doesn’t sound like a good _Tony_.”

Pepper folds her arms. “Are you not worried about him?”

Tony shakes his head and tosses the cut chicken around in the pan. They hit the surface with a crisp sizzle. “I’ve learned that if I think about things while I’m cooking dinner, then I’m eight-five-percent more likely to burn the kitchen down. Isn’t that crazy? I’m not worried, Pep. He’s a big kid now.”

“Well, what if he’s in trouble?” she asks him, folding her arms. “You could call him. I know you’re freaking out somewhere in that big head of yours.”

“Hey, it’s not _—_ ” Tony sighs, handing the spatula over to Pepper with a defeated frown. “Fine. I’ll call him. If you mess up my food—”

“Somehow, I’m gonna figure out a way to make it better.”

He presses one last kiss to her cheek. “Love you,” he says before escaping down the hall.

His worry often shows when he least wants it to, or sometimes it doesn’t show at all. Deep down, he knows that Pepper is right. All the kid has to do is take one bad step off of a curb, and Tony will be biting his nails all night while the ankle swelling goes down. He doesn’t just worry, he thinks it’s something more than that. _Parenting_ , as Rhodey has said a few times, although Tony refuses to acknowledge it.

He dials Peter as he enters the home office, studying the photographs on the walls and bookcases full of trophies and knick-knacks. The entire home smells like teriyaki sauce. With his phone up to his ear, Tony counts every ring, and his heart lurches once the call goes straight to voicemail. He has no reason to worry—like he said earlier, Peter takes out his tracker once a month simply because he’s a little shit who hates following any regulations. Tony doesn’t have a reason to worry because a missed call could mean _anything_. But he calls again.

Another few rings, another call dropped. Tony stares at an old Iron Man action figure on a shelf.

“C’mon, Pete, don’t be stupid,” he breathes out, dialing for the third time. _Three’s nothing to worry about, there’s nothing to worry about_.

The voice mailbox is loud in his ear.

“Shit,” Tony says. He taps away at his phone, but instead of calling Peter again, he dials the next person he can think of.

“Tony?”

“May, hey, how are you?” he greets, trying to hold back any waver in his tone to the next parental figure in Peter’s life. He leans over as his hand hardens into a fist on the bookshelf.

She hesitates before she answers. “I’m fine,” she says slowly. “Is Peter fine?”

“Pfft, yeah,” Tony replies. “Just wanted to call and see how you were doing. Everything’s fine with—okay, no, actually—” He sighs, wincing for a brief moment while the anxiety climbs down into his wrists. “Peter isn’t answering his phone. He removed his tracker or _something_ , and I just assumed it wasn’t a big deal until he decided to ignore all of my calls. Do you know where he is?”

“I-I don’t.” Her voice crackles through the phone. “He left to patrol a few hours ago, and he usually gets back a little before eight. He’s not with you? He’s not with Ned? I don’t know why he would remove his tracker.”

“Well, he either wants to hide something from me or he’s—okay, no, it’s usually just the first thing,” Tony says, huffing as he continues pacing the room. His stomach growls meanwhile, but he can hardly think about the stir fry cooking in the kitchen. “If he didn’t want me to know something—if he didn’t want me to find him—then, May, I don’t know if he’s—”

“Tony, he’s fine,” she says calmly. “Okay? I know my nephew. You trust him, and he trusts you, so he’s fine. Keep trying him if you can. I’m gonna call Ned or MJ or anyone who might know where he is. It’s fine, Tony. He’s fine.”

“You have a very calming voice; you know that?” Tony tells her. “You could be a therapist. Wait—are you a therapist? Where do you work?”

May laughs on the other end. “Keep calling him. I’ll get back to you if I hear anything.”

“Thanks, May, ‘preciate it.”

Tony sighs again after she ends the call. He doesn’t like the uncertainty. He doesn’t like how Peter goes against the few regulations in place because he thinks he’s invincible to danger. It’s not much—the tracker. It’s there for Tony in case something happens. He doesn’t sit by a screen and eat popcorn while watching every blip on Peter’s location, although sometimes he finds himself distracted by the little red dot.

And he understands why Peter does it. He does. Tony doesn’t mean to come across as a _helicopter parent-type_ —and no, he is not admitting that he acts, in any way, parental to Peter. He doesn’t want the kid to feel like he can’t be trusted. But, every once in a while, Tony needs to know that Peter is okay. It’s not a parent thing. It’s an anxiety thing.

Every call is sent to voicemail. It comforts Tony to know that Peter’s phone is still on, but his stomach flips at the thought of being ignored. He doesn’t know why he’s so upset over being ignored.

“Okay, fuck it,” he says, dropping his hand down to his thigh. “FRIDAY, set a course for wherever Peter was last tracked. I’ll meet you up on the roof in five.”

_“Yes, sir.”_

Tony rushes back through the kitchen where Pepper is still standing behind the stove. She glances at him with curiosity, but it quickly dissolves as she takes in his demeanor.

“I’m so sorry—” he tries to say.

Pepper shakes her head. “You do what you have to do. Peter is more important than chicken.”

“Tell that to the chicken,” Tony breathes out. He gives her a half-smile and a kiss on the lips before bounding up to the rooftop.

His suit waits for him, red, silver, and gold reflections bouncing right through his retinas. He’s in the sky in a matter of seconds with a course set to the outer edge of Queens. He doesn’t give himself enough time to think, nor does he have a single thought running through his head. He doesn’t know if he’s worried or annoyed or perhaps a bit of both.

May calls him back as he’s over Brooklyn.

“I just realized it’s Tuesday,”she blurts without saying hello.

“What about it being Tuesday?” he asks. “If I missed his birthday—May, you didn’t tell me—”

“No, it’s not his birthday, you’re fine,” she says. “It’s Tuesday. Peter volunteers over at F.E.A.S.T. on Tuesday nights. It’s a homeless shelter on 134th. If he’s not there, I’d try the one in Manhattan.”

“How is it that I’m just now finding out about this?” Tony mutters, lowering down toward the lights of the city below. The hum of his repulsors is drowned out by the wind. “A homeless shelter? Jesus. That kid really is better than me.”

May laughs lightly on the other end.

“Doesn’t really explain why he took out the tracker, but I’ll get to the bottom of it,” Tony continues.

“He usually just goes to volunteer,” she says, “but as Peter. He just goes as Peter.”

“Well, tonight is just full of surprises, isn’t it?”

“I guess you could say I raised him right.”

Tony lands on the roof of a neighboring building beside the F.E.A.S.T. shelter. All of the windows are lit, and there are a few people gathered out on the steps sharing a cigarette. “What? Don’t I get any credit?” he asks May.

She laughs again. “Sure, you get two-percent of the credit.”

“Anything’s better than one-percent,” he says with a smile. “Thanks for your help, May. I’ll make sure not to namedrop you in the middle of my interrogation.”

“Ah. _Interrogation_. Play nice.”

“When am I not nice?”

After the phone call ends, Tony waits for the group outside of the shelter to clear in order to make his entrance. While he has been an avid donor in the past, he doesn’t want to call more attention to himself than necessary. Not purely for his sake, but also for Peter’s. Tony has a tendency to steal thunder around others.

The lobby is empty, but beyond another set of double doors sits a gymnasium with bunk beds, televisions, and chairs. And at the far end of the room, twenty to thirty people stand around a guy in a red-and-blue suit. Peter.

Tony leans up against one of the open doors and watches from afar. There’s not a single frown insight, and he guarantees that—behind the mask—Peter is grinning from ear-to-ear, too. He doesn’t do this for the attention; he does it because he’s a good person.

“Can you do another flip?” someone asks, and a small chorus of agreements follow.

“Okay, okay—” Peter holds up his hands defensively and laughs. “Anything for you, Lizzie.”

Cheers erupt from the group once the kid lands flat back on his feet, and he basks in the light celebration. Tony can’t help but smile, too. When the whites of the mask’s eyes glance over at the doors, Peter’s demeanor falls.

“Okay, guys,” Peter says, clapping his hands, “thanks so much for having me tonight. I gotta split, but I’ll be back next week for a full hour.”

Tony ducks away before anyone else can spot him. For a few minutes, he stands out behind the building where a few dumpsters have yet to be cleared. A cold breeze has picked up, and the rotten scents waft with it.

To keep himself busy, Tony kicks a few stones and snaps his fingers together, turning around in a small circle until a voice calls out, “How did you find me?”

Tony twists around to face a maskless Peter. “What? You weren’t expecting me? Did you not want me to find out about your heart of gold? Every Tuesday night, huh? Impressive.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want you to find out, Mister Stark,” Peter says, shoulders falling as he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just that—”

“So you just turned off your tracker for shits and gigs?”

“No, _no_.” He sighs. “I didn’t want you to think that I was just using Spider-Man. I didn’t—I don’t know, I guess. S’stupid.”

Tony shakes his head, and his heart fills with something—pride? Annoyance? Given his experience with Peter, he can’t tell the difference.

“Do you know how many birthday parties I’ve been to, kid?” he says to Peter. “How many graduations I’ve flown over? How many charity auctions I’ve attended—all as Iron Man? A part of the hero gig is showing that you care, not just the big flashy stuff like saving the city from aliens. You care about the people, not because it makes you look better, but because you _actually_ care.”

Peter nods, glancing down at his feet while he toys with the crumpled mask in his hands. “They’ve almost exceeded their donation goal,” he says. “I just wanted to see if Spider-Man could help boost morale, I guess. Make them feel important. Cos’ they are important, and I thought I could use my platform to make the community see that.”

“You could’ve come to me, y’know, kiddo. I get you wanna use your platform, but I’ve got enough donation pots to cover up Manhattan in square inches.”

“They don’t need a billionaire, Mister Stark. They need the community.”

Tony smiles. The feeling is pride. “No, you’re absolutely right. You are—wallow in it for a sec. Okay, so, we’ll get some funding. I’ll set up some fundraisers for you to run. We’ll get the whole block to show their support. And I’m still gonna donate because you can’t tell me what to do. Sound like a good deal?”

Peter smiles right back and nods. “Yeah. Yeah. That’ll be great. Thank you.”

“Dare I say it, Pete, you’re makin’ me proud.”

“Can I get you to repeat that so I can record it?”

“No.”

**II.**

Tony’s shopping habits revolve around what catches his eye on the internet these days. Designer suits are tailor-made especially for him while promotional campaign hand-outs pile high in his closet. Most of his recent purchases are from hole-in-the-wall retailers due to new ads that pop up on _The New York Times_. But in-person shopping is unfamiliar terrain as of late—which is why he firmly regrets offering to buy Peter some new clothes for the upcoming school year.

Because the kid, to his surprise, says _yes._

That’s how Tony ends up beside Bryant Park, dressed up in one of his tailored suits while Peter feeds a soft pretzel to a flock of pigeons. The stares are continuous, but the kid carries on.

“You’re not ashamed to be around me, right?” Peter asks on their way down Sixth Avenue. He fiddles with the edge of his t-shirt and keeps his gaze down low. Meanwhile, Tony stares straight ahead with his chin high. “It’s really cool of you to do this.”

“Ashamed?” Tony grimaces in amusement. “I’m ashamed when you tell me things like how your secret talent is armpit farts. But it’s just shopping, Pete. Why on earth would I be ashamed?”

Peter replies with a shrug. “Dunno. Cos’ you’re you, and we’re out in public looking like we’re… never mind.”

Tony’s brain fills in the words for him. Father and son. He’s kidding himself if he says he hasn’t thought of that. The media has already swarmed the rumors over a handful of times. But the sole reason for Tony’s expensive regalia is just that—to convince the public that it’s less of a father-son outing and more like a casual business affair. However, because of Peter’s age and innocent puppy dog eyes, there’s no way the media won’t continue to speculate.

“Well, if anything you should be ashamed to be around me,” Tony says, pushing his sunglasses farther up his nose. “I’m not hip with the times. I don’t know what’s _popping_.”

“Oh, God, Mister Stark—” Peter shakes his head. “Please don’t.”

Tony chuckles and drapes an arm over the kid’s shoulder. “Oh boy, sport, you’re gonna wish you never agreed to hang out with me.”

On their way into Macy’s, Peter chatters on about the few times he came here with Ben and May many years back. Tony is half-listening to what the kid says, only picking up onto a few sentences here and there—like how Peter hates escalators and got stuck on the third floor when he was ten because he refused to come down. He recalls the day he spent an hour wandering around the lingerie department because he couldn’t find his aunt. Tony snorts at the idea of a little Peter Parker loose in a department store all by himself.

“Couldn’t your aunt and uncle have invested in one of those kid leashes?” Tony asks as they enter the first floor of the men’s department. “I can imagine it—you’re fourteen-years-old with a bumblebee backpack, attached to May by her wrist.

“Those leashes are cruel,” Peter says before mumbling, “and yes, they seriously considered it.”

Tony laughs again, and he’s not at all worried about how he looks. Billionaire, playboy, _father—_ he doesn’t care. Yet he can’t help but think about the consequences. When Tony cares, people tend to get hurt. And Peter has already gotten hurt so many times in the past. Now it feels like Tony’s responsibility to make sure the kid doesn’t break his nose from opening up the refrigerator too hard.

Up on the second floor, there are suits until the eye can see. Black, gray, white, tan, and even some pink suits that Tony has been heavily considering for months now. Meanwhile, Peter is caught up in gawking over price tags before Tony flicks the back of his head and assures him not to worry. _“When a billionaire is offering to buy you clothes, Pete, you let him.”_ But the kid, quite frankly, doesn’t know where to start.

“Do you think I should get a suit for the suit?” Peter asks through the walls of the dressing room. “Like a three-piece for my one-piece?

Tony barely looks up from his game of Candy Crush as he dryly answers, “yeah, no. Absolutely not. Where would you be going in two suits?” He glances around to make sure no one overhears their conversation.

“I don’t know,” Peter says. “Conventions. Award shows. Maybe I’ll win something as Spider-Man and need to show up in a suit.”

“That’s stupid. Conventions?”

“I think it’d be cool to cosplay as myself.”

Tony smiles, but he doesn’t dare let Peter know about his amusement. “Keep figuring out how to tie that tie, Pete. I’m gonna get my hopes up and pick out a few things for Pepper. Need anything else?”

“Uh—no,” Peter answers. “Just don’t forget about me.”

“Okay, John Hughes, I’ll be back in a few. Don’t move.”

Tony is gone ten minutes, if that. He has many flaws, a few unaccounted for, but the one standing out overall is his inability to understand his fiancée’s taste in clothing. Anytime he thinks he has a grasp on her sense of style, he’s met with a weak smile and a tight “thank you, honey”, but he always receives a kiss on the cheek no matter what. When he heads back to the second floor with two blouses he already knows will be rejected, Peter is no longer in the dressing rooms. Instinctively, Tony rolls his eyes.

“What about _don’t move_ did you not understand, kid?” he mutters to himself. For the next few minutes, he wanders the floor and avoids glances from intrigued customers. He’s seconds away from asking if anyone has seen a doe-eyed kid, only about 5’7” with a dorky shirt that reads _“I make science puns periodically”._ But then his phone rings.

“Unless your bladder was about to burst, I don’t want excuses,” Tony says right off the bat. “Explain to me why I’m surrounded by a few dozen strangers and you are not among them.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Peter replies. “I thought I was gonna be able to come find you, but then I got distracted by the scent of pretzels. And _then_ my bladder was about to burst.”

“I told you not to feed your pretzel to the pigeons.”

“They looked hungry.”

“They’re always hungry. They’re pigeons. Not to mention _New York_ pigeons.”

Peter sighs through the phone. “Look, I’m sorry, Mister Stark, but I literally have no idea where I am and I feel like I’m six-years-old right now. It’s so stupid.”

“Why—cos’ you’re lost in a store and you can’t find me?” Tony asks.

There’s a short beat of silence.

“Yes,” Peter whispers sharply.

Tony cracks a grin. He’s starting to wonder why he hasn’t taken Peter out shopping before. “Do you have any idea where you are? You know there are directories, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m afraid that an employee is gonna take one look at me and just _know_ I’m lost,” Peter says. “They can pick up on those vibes, you know. They sniff out people who are too scared to ask for help.”

“They’re not wolves, Pete.”

“Yeah, _well_.”

Tony has made a habit of rolling his eyes when he’s around Peter. But the action is only a sign of true annoyance half of the time. The other times, Tony rolls his eyes because—when they’re together—they become too much alike.

“Last I checked, I was on the fourth floor,” Peter says after a moment, “following the scent of pretzels and then using the bathroom.”

“Fine, stay there,” Tony tells him. “And that means _don’t move_ , got it?”

“Got it.”

“You were supposedto stay on the second floor.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Peter says, tone rising toward agitation. “I’m an idiot. I tried to go find you, and—”

“Whoa, whoa, _no_.” Tony furrows his brows as he takes the escalator up to the next floor. He waves at anyone who stares. “You’re not an idiot. None of that self-deprecating talk, okay? We’ve talked about this. Just stay where you are and _maybe_ I’ll get you another pretzel. And you’ll eat it inside this time.”

Peter mumbles out a weak, “okay.”

“Maybe your aunt and uncle should’ve gotten you a child leash.”

_“Hey.”_

“Just saying.”

**III.**

Tony has been off and on the phone with May since ten o’clock the night prior. With his anxious fingers tapping on every surface in his home, he listens to her list of advice and updates about Peter’s mood, from the bad to the good. The blame on her end only went so far once she realized how much the ordeal was eating away at Tony. She wasn’t as mad as he had been at Peter the previous day.

It was an accident—a small blip in his mood that shifted toward anger when Peter went against Tony’s requests _again_. Tracking down an underground mafia in the heart of Brooklyn was the root cause of Tony’s sudden burst. He had specifically asked the kid not to _(“They have guns, Pete. Are you bulletproof? Didn’t think so.”),_ but Peter went ahead and did it anyway. No matter the lack of gunshot wounds that somehow avoided him, Tony was still angry.

_“I’ve only got one bad heart, Peter—I can’t have you swinging around with every intent to break it. This gig is only yours under my rules. If you don’t like ‘em, fine—gimme the suit back then. Find a new mentor. Cos’ I’m tired of setting rules to keep you safe if you’re only gonna break them instead. I’m tired of you intentionally putting yourself in harm’s way over something you’re too damn stubborn to ask help for. Jesus, Pete, I’m tired of this shit because I care about you, and I’m tired of you forgetting that I have the capability to fucking care!”_

Tony, of course, meant every word, but he hadn’t meant to say them like that.

Now, it has been radio silence from Peter, and Tony won’t stop bothering May about it. He pretends not to hear the annoyance in her tone every time she picks up the phone.

“Tony, I think you expect too much from him,” she says in the afternoon. “I’m glad you have rules—believe me, I couldn’t be happier about them. Just proves to me that you’re not always what the media paints you out to be. But you have to cut him some slack. He’s sixteen. If I’ve learned anything from being his parent for the last ten years, it’s that you need to loosen the reigns every now and then. Just because they’re your kid doesn’t mean they’re your property. I mean, obviously keep the rules, but maybe don’t freak out on him like last night.”

Tony chews at his cheek and sighs. “You know, you might just be right.”

“That’s exactly what I thought you’d say.”

“What do you do when it feels hopeless?” he asks, and it feels weird to him to ask for parenting advice. By this point, he has to admit that it’s true..

May hums in thought. “Loaded question,” she says, chuckling. “But usually, with Peter, it doesn’t feel hopeless. He’s a really good kid—he just likes his independence. He likes being Spider-Man, and sometimes I think he likes it more than anything else. And he’ll do anything to make things right, even if he doesn’t realize that it may be wrong. I worry about that a lot.”

“That’s what we’re for,” Tony remarks quietly. “Our job is to worry.”

“You hear yourself, right? You hear what you’re saying?”

“Usually, yes. I do hear what I’m saying.”

May chuckles. “Okay, good. Just making sure. Peter really looks up to you. You’ve almost become a father-figure to him.”

“Well—” Tony scratches his jaw and smiles. “—I can kinda see that on my end, too.”

“I think he’s wondering why you haven’t called.”

“Huh. Yeah, I should probably do that.”

“It’s worth a try,” she says. “He’ll warm up. Especially once he hears you apologize.”

Tony grimaces at the thought. “ _Apologize_ ,” he mutters. “Yeah, I’m not great at apologies.”

“Men,” May scoffs, and the call ends.

The next few days follow with a few dozen unanswered calls and texts, even a few e-mails at times. Tony can’t wrap his mind around the idea of losing Peter this way, so his attempts never cease. He calls and calls until Peter’s voice mailbox is full. Tony, in his forty-seven years of living, has never asked for forgiveness so many times in one day. Then again, he doesn’t remember much of his twenties. What he wants, in all honesty, is the chance to apologize.

They’ve come this far, and Tony can’t see a life without Peter in it anymore.

He’s in Queens before he has the chance to think his choices over. Including his outfit choice. Tony hasn’t been caught dead in joggers since he was on the commencement floor at MIT, and now he’s knocking on the Parker’s apartment door wearing what he slept in the night before.

May isn’t at all shocked to see him. “Peter should be home any minute now,” she says, leading the billionaire inside. The room smells of spaghetti and meatballs with an overwhelming dash of garlic. “He’ll come in through his room, so you can wait for him there. Can I get you anything to drink in the meantime?”

“You are being suspiciously nice to me,” Tony tells her, but he agrees to a cup of green tea nevertheless.

May shrugs as she runs a kettle under the tap “What I see in you is what I’ve seen a million other times. With me. With Ben. Parents aren’t perfect.”

Tony’s spine straightens at the word.

“We worry about what’s best,” she continues, “and then we’re wracked with guilt when we mess up. Because we do mess up, you know. It’s okay to admit that you’ve messed up. Your outfit is proof.”

“Irrelevant, but continue.”

“It’s also kind of funny to see you like this,” May says with a wink. “You’re like a lost puppy. If you’re gonna be in Peter’s life, then you’re just gonna have to get used to this. Ever wonder why I’m so cool about him being Spider-Man?”

Tony raises a brow. “Yes, actually.”

“Well, first-things-first—” May sets a tea bag in an empty mug and heats up the kettle. “—I’m not. I literally lose my mind every night he comes home a few hours later than usual. I can’t begin to explain the countless nights I’ve cried over the scenarios I conjure up in my mind. I won’t even show you my fingernails because they’re bitten to pieces.”

Tony sighs at her words, regret instantly sinking in once he realizes that he’s mostly to blame for her anxiety. For the past year and a half, he has encouraged this. And she stands there, making him tea and telling him that—right now—he’s the closest thing Peter has to a father. It’s strange. The thought makes Tony’s heart feel heavy in his chest.

“But I can’t stop it,” she says. “I can’t stop him from being Spider-Man, and I can’t pile on restrictions because it’ll only make him want it more. And he really wants this. So, all I can do is worry and pray that he’ll make it home every night. Every scrape he gets cuts me to my core, Tony, but he’s not the kid that he used to be. He knows what he’s doing even if he’s aloof doing it.”

“You don’t think I blew it?” Tony asks.

May smiles. “Not a chance.”

Tony warms his hands with the mug of tea while he waits on Peter’s bed. The floor is a mess, strewn with dirty clothes and sheets of crumpled homework, and his bed is unmade. A few of the teen’s action figures have fallen down onto the desk with little grace. But Tony doesn’t dare touch anything—not that he would want to. He knows the dirty habits of a teenage boy. Tony’s nose wrinkles in disgust.

The sky outside is orange when a hand presses down hard against the window. A few drops of tea spill onto Tony’s hand at the startling sound. A masked Peter reveals himself a moment later, only making it halfway through the window when he suddenly sees Tony sitting there waiting for him. After that, his movements are slow.

“Hey,” Peter says quietly, tugging off his mask to uncover the slight panic in his eyes.

Tony raises the mug his way before taking a sip. “How goes it?”

“Fine, uh—” Peter doesn’t budge. “What’re you doing here?”

“Come sit.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Relax,” Tony says. “I haven’t come here to yell at you.”

A few seconds of hesitance pass, but Peter eventually walks over the pile of dirty socks and sits down at the far end of the bed. His uncertainty never falters.

“I just—I’ve come here to say that I’m sorry,” Tony begins. “I don’t say that a lot—which _I should_ —but that’s how you know it means more. I feel like we’ve got things we need to talk about, and if I hear that _voice mailbox is full_ message again, I think I’m gonna sue your phone company.”

Peter swallows and nods. “Yeah. We should—we should talk. What about?”

“Well, lay it on me,” Tony says with a shrug. “Everything you’ve been dying to say to me—now’s your chance to get it all out.”

Peter thinks about it for a couple of seconds, his gloved fingers fidgeting with one another while he finds something else to stare at. But it always comes back to Tony. “Am I ever gonna be good enough, Tony?”

 _Tony_. The use of his name breaks Tony’s heart.

“Good enough?” Tony says, finding the warmth of the mug to be his only source of comfort. “How could you not be good enough? What makes you think you’re not good enough?”

Peter shrugs lazily. “I just feel like I’m never gonna do anything right. You never tell me what I’m doing well, only what I’m doing wrong. So I just assume that’s how it’s gonna be sometimes.”

“Shit, Pete, that’s not—” Tony’s heart is lodged in his throat. He sighs out a long breath. “No, I’m so sorry. That’s all on me. The whole praise and congratulations thing—that never happened to me. And it’s not an excuse, but everyone needs to hear that stuff every once in a while. My dad was all sorts of messy, so I’m still learning.”

Peter furrows his brows tight, cogs running his brain until exhaust pours from his ears. “Is that why you kinda helicopter over me?” he asks. “Cos’ he never did?”

Tony’s eyes widen. He never thought of it that way. “Yeah. Seems like it.”

“That’s what bothers me the most, I think,” the kid says. “Feels like you don’t trust me. I know I do stupid things sometimes. I mean— _a lot_ of times. But I do smart things, too.”

“Yeah.” Tony smiles. “You do smart things, too.”

“Sorry I ignored you.”

“No, don’t be sorry, okay?” he says. “ _I’m_ sorry. I stepped over the line. I blew up. I went too far. I want there to be boundaries because—god forbid, Pete—what if I wake up one day and find your death splattered on the front page of every newspaper, including the Daily Bugle? I couldn’t live with that. But I know I can’t helicopter over you, like you said. It’s something I’m gonna work on. Promise.”

Peter nods. “Okay.”

“We do have to agree on some terms though,” Tony continues, “cos’ my ticker is constantly two seconds away from a heart attack at all times. We need some rules. Some rules are good.

Peter smiles and nods, so Tony smiles too. He hasn’t lost him, not this time.

**IV.**

May is the one to tell him that Murph has died.

At first, Tony thinks it’s a code. Code for Peter getting stuck up in a tree but being too embarrassed to call for help. Code for the Parker residence being infiltrated and now May and Peter are trapped in a storage unit in the middle of nowhere. But then Tony recalls the few times he has heard that name in context. Murph is the bodega cat Peter sends him pictures of once or twice a week. Yet Tony knows that it isn’t the cause of Peter’s silence. They haven’t spoken in eighteen days.

This time, it isn’t because Tony lashed out or because Peter’s phone broke again. Midterms aren’t until after the winter break, so Tony sits and waits for answers.

FRIDAY has been keeping him updated. When Peter is in the suit, Tony finds out right away. He doesn’t do it to watch the kid’s every move, which is creepy—he’s way beyond that behavior. A feeling gnaws at the back of Tony’s neck and tells him that something is wrong. He only feels two-percent better if he knows that Peter is still alive.

The AI’s updates turn an odd course. Some days, Peter stays in the suit for hours, motionless yet breathing somewhere in Queens. In the heart of December, Tony worries about him freezing to death, yet his vitals always read well. And then some days, Peter’s vitals spike in a familiar way. Heart rate climbing beyond what is healthy for a normal teenage boy with spider powers. Peter has a panic attack at least once a day.

When he doesn’t come home for a whole day, Tony decides that enough is enough. He can’t sit in the silence and watch the turmoil unfold. So, he extends an invitation through May for Peter to spend a day up at his workshop. When the kid is able to tinker, his mood always changes.

“Jesus, kid—did you run through a shredder?” Tony asks, not only remarking on the suit’s torn appearance but also the many cuts and scrapes on Peter’s cheeks.

Peter shakes his head and keeps his gaze low. They’ve been together for a matter of seconds, and he hasn’t uttered a word. The dark circles beneath his eyes tell Tony that he hasn’t been sleeping well for quite some time.

“Synthetic fibers are in high demand these days,” Tony says, “but lucky for you, I’m rich. I’ll get this touched up. Anything you’ve got your heart set on doing today?”

Peter shakes his head again.

Tony decides that, one way or another, he’s going to crack the brick wall that Peter has put up.

Over the next hour, the workshop is filled with silence and tension while they focus on their separate tasks. Tony keeps an eye on Peter throughout the duration, focusing in on the trembling of his hands and the occasional taut expression he wears when something goes wrong. The only noise between them is the sparks that periodically emit from the innards of Peter’s suit. That alone speaks volumes—it’s all codes, chips, and wiring, things Peter has a talent for understanding, but nothing is going right.

When Peter begins to mumble incoherent words under his breath, Tony prepares for the worst. Peter’s breathing has picked up, fingers unable to keep his pentalobe screwdriver still before it clatters onto the metal workbench. That sends him over the edge. He slams his fists down against the table before covering his face entirely, and the dramatic sobs join in a moment later. The brick wall has fallen.

Tony stands there as his heart races. Half of his brain tells him to run away and the other half only wants to help. Once Peter’s crying softens, Tony finally makes an effort to move and sits down on a stool beside him.

“Pete?” Tony says, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. What’s going on?”

Peter looks up, red-faced with swollen eyes and wet cheeks, and his expression is wrung tight. “I-I couldn’t—it wasn’t—” He exhales shakily. “Nothing is—” But his words are cut off by a harsh hiccup.

Tony doesn’t hesitate to pull Peter into a hug. They haven’t shared many, not that he can recall, but when his instincts scream, he listens. For a minute, they sit there in silence. Tony has been unconsciously rubbing small circles along Peter’s shoulder blades to calm him down, and the small gesture works. In the moment, it doesn’t mean much. Tony only wants to make Peter feel better. But he knows that the moment feels oddly parental. It’s both wrong and right.

Peter pulls away from the hug with a heavy sniff. Only a few more tears fall before they cease altogether.

“What the hell is going on with you, kiddo?” Tony asks, not sternly, but with as much concern as he can muster.

Peter lowers his brows and his bottom lip trembles. “I really miss him,” he whispers out.

It only takes a second to understand. Two years ago, Peter’s entire DNA was recoded and genetically modified similar to the structure of a spider’s. And two years ago, following that day, he lost one of the most important persons in his life. Grief always follows Peter, no matter how much time has passed, and it never goes away. Because two years ago, Ben died, and Peter lost a part of himself with him.

When Peter starts to cry again, a string of broken apologies leaves his lips. Tony doesn’t like the sound. While a genius in many aspects, he has never been one for emotional intellect. He doesn’t know the right words that might make Peter feel better.

Instead, he says, “let’s have a movie night. I’ll make the popcorn, you pick the movie. Sound good? And you’re required to say yes—you agreed to hang out with me today.

Peter wipes his tears and cracks a smile. “ _Indiana Jones_?”

“Sure, kid. We can watch _Indiana Jones_.”

“The Crystal Skull one?”

“Now you’re just messing with me.”

**V.**

Peter’s voice crackles through the phone. “H-hey, Mister Stark! Are ya busy?”

“Why on earth are you yelling?” Tony asks. “I’m not ninety-years-old, kid. You got something to say—you speak slowly and calmly so I can understand you.”

“Uh—” A few noises on the other end accompany Peter, such as falling objects and shattering glass, and immediately Tony is up on his feet. “Sorry,” Peter says, now much slower but through heavy breaths. “Are you busy?”

“What the hell are you up to?”

“Well, right now, I’m getting ganged up on by Maggia guys. Just your average, crime-fightin’ day.” Another harsh sound echoes from Peter’s side of the line. “ _Hey_ , that wasn’t very nice.”

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Pete. I told you _not_ to go after the Maggia.”

“Too late. I’m here,” Peter says. “And—uh, if you’re not busy, a little help might be nice.”

Tony, in the most sarcastic way possible, is pleased as punch. “After we’re done,” Tony begins as he prepares a suit, “you’re grounded. Four weeks. And I reserve the right to call you Bug Boy.”

“But I don’t like Bug Boy.”

“Suck it up, Bug Boy.”

Tony tracks Peter’s location to a shipyard in Brooklyn. The traffic on the parkway masks the noise of occasional gunfire behind the shipping containers. The sounds alone cause a spike in Tony’s heart rate, but Peter manages to dodge every shot.

Approximately ten men are running up to the kid from all sides.

“Nice of you to bring your buddy Iron Man along for the ride,” says one of the Maggia men before he’s quickly webbed up by the feet.

Peter whips around as Tony hovers, and the eyes of his mask grew comically wide. “Hey, you made it! Just about time. The party’s only—”

A shot rings out, and for a split second in time, the world moves in slow motion. The sound runs down Tony’s spine, electricity burning a hole through each vertebra as he watches the bullet meet Peter from behind. It enters and exits, tearing through the kid’s torso just below his kidney, and a shout rips away at Tony’s throat. His helmet surrenders as Peter falls to his knees.

Peter’s name sits at the tip of Tony’s tongue. And then he sees nothing but red.

Tony is merciless. His gauntlets are hot from each blast, and the remaining men all meet the ground within seconds. _No mercy_ isn’t how Spider-Man works. _No mercy_ isn’t Peter’s thing. Yet Tony can’t think about what Peter wants when the kid is curled up on the pavement with blood coating his hands

“Hey, _hey_ , talk to me,” Tony says, moving Peter’s hands so he can examine the wound. “Count back from ten. FRIDAY, can you—”

_“Preparing a medical team for your arrival.”_

“Peter, hey, bud—” Tony removes the mask and cups Peter’s cheek. “You in there? Count back from ten.”

Peter nods slowly. Half of his face is pressed against the ground, tears slipping from his eyes, but he doesn’t make a sound. “T-ten… nine…” He inhales sharply. “Eight.”

Tony takes the opportunity to lift Peter into his arms, and the action is met with a curdling scream. “Kid, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just hold on, okay? Just hold on.”

The groans and whimpers of pain cut through Tony’s heart as he flies to a neighboring rooftop away from the bay. He can’t see or think straight, but every soft cry reminds him of the hole in his kid’s torso and the blood that seeps through his spandex. Every second is precious.

Peter screams out again as Tony lies him down on the pebbled rooftop. He tries to thrash, but it only worsens the pain. Tony has no choice but to fight to keep him still.

“Peter, Peter— _stop_ ,” he says, gripping Peter’s wrists. “I gotta get you help, okay? We have to keep moving. I gotta take you to—”

“No, no.” Peter shakes his head and curls his knees against his chest. “Please, Tony, it hurts. Please.”

“You have to sit still, okay?” Tony’s throat is tight as he speaks. “There’s no bullet. The bullet is gone. You either have to let me cauterize it, or—”

“No!” Peter cries. “No, please don’t. _Tony_.”

Tony resists the urge to cry as well. “Pete you have to fucking listen to me! I know it hurts—I know. God, I know, okay? I’m so sorry. But I gotta get you help. I gotta save you. You have to let me save you.”

As Peter struggles to even out his breathing, his movements slow, and he nods before Tony pulls him back into his arms. The wince is quick and quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers once they meet the sky. His eyes flutter closed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, _hey—_ ” Tony lifts his arms to shake Peter awake. “Stay with me bud. Just hold on. Okay? You have to stay with me. There’s so much left to do, Pete. So many things you’re gonna do once this heals. Cos’ it’s gonna heal. You’re gonna get better. You have to keep telling yourself that. I can’t lose you.”

Peter’s voice is soft—too soft—as he says, “I can’t lose you, too.”

**+1**

Peter recalls where it all went wrong. An argument, some misspoken words, and two months of a cold shoulder that have left him without his mentor.

Spring is one of his least favorite seasons; the warmth never truly starts until summer hits. The season of hay fever and finals leaves little to desire, and Peter is stuck wishing for June instead. In this case, spring is the season where Tony Stark has finally had enough.

That’s how it seems.

Peter spends each day in the suit, hoping that one day a call will come through and Tony will go on about a new invention patent that has yet to surface in the news. Peter used to hear about everything. He even used to hear about Tony’s weird dreams if there was nothing else to talk about. But now there’s nothing to talk about. There’s no one to talk to. And it’s all Peter’s fault.

He came to May’s room that night in tears, chest heaving while words sputtered from his lips in incoherent waves. For minutes, he sat there in her arms and waited for his thoughts to clear. He remembers her not saying a word until he spoke up.

“He told me he loved me,” Peter had said, furrowing his brows as he replayed the scene over in his head. “T-told me he couldn’t handle seeing me put my life on the line after that night in Brooklyn. He was mad—mad at me for not caring about who I was hurting. And he’s _right_ , May. I know he’s right. But then I got mad cos’ he said I couldn’t handle this. The responsibility of Spider-Man. Apparently, all I wanna do is act recklessly. I got so mad, May. Why did I have to get so mad?”

“Peter,” she sighed out. She had her hand on his head, fingers weaving through a few strands of hair while his tears fell silently. “I think you were only mad because he was mad. You knew that he wasn’t telling you the truth.”

“I’ve been Spider-Man for two years,” Peter said. “I know how to handle it. I-I’m just—I’m still a kid. I’m still doing it the way I wanna do it. But I got _so_ mad.”

“I’m guessing that you got mad?”

Peter tries to laugh through a frown. “I told him that I didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. That I wanted him out of my life. I wanted him to stop helping. To—to stop _pretending_ to care about me. I can’t believe I said that. He literally said he loved me like a son, a-and then I said _that_.”

“He told you that?”

Peter nodded and sniffed. “He’s been kinda like a dad to me lately. It’s weird. But then I just left.”

The look on Tony’s face had said enough that day. When Peter walked out, he wasn’t coming back.

But two months later, through the silence, Peter knows that Tony is only respecting his wishes. The handful of arguments in the past have always been amended. Except for this time. This time, the responsibility lies on Peter’s shoulders, but he doesn’t imagine that Tony will want anything to do with him now. The two months pass like a breeze.

Peter feels like he has lost Tony for good.

He has a nightmare about Tony’s death—dust floating around them in bright orange hues until the sky turns gray with debris. In the dream, Tony doesn’t say a word, but he smiles as the light leaves his eyes. Peter is crying when he wakes up. So, he calls up Happy as he hurries to get dressed.

Peter ends up at a hangar near JFK before he has the chance to blink.

“His flight takes off in a few minutes,” Happy says once Peter leaps out on to the tarmac. The engines of planes in the distance overwhelm them. “If you run, you can make it.”

“Thanks, Happy!” Peter calls as he rushes to the private SI hangar. A jet sits on the tarmac with its cabin door wide open. Peter manages to catch a stewardess before she boards the flight. “Ma’am, hi—sorry. I’m Peter Parker. I’m Mister Stark’s intern, and—”

The woman lifts her lapel pin up to her lips. “I’m gonna need security on—”

“No, no, please,” Peter says. “If you could just get him for me, all I need to do is—”

“Sir, I’m gonna need you to step away from the craft,” she tells him calmly, holding up her palm.

Peter knits his brows at the formal use of _sir._ He doesn’t like being called _sir._ “You don’t understand,” he says, “I’m his intern, ma’am. Please.”

“I can’t let you—”

“Mister Parker?” a voice says from the door. Above the stairs, Tony stands in a three-piece suit, brow raised and eyes wide.

The stewardess backs away from Peter. “I apologize, Mister Stark. He wanted to board, so I—”

“No worries, Kim,” Tony replies as he descends the stairs. He pulls out a pair of sunglasses from the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’ll take it from here.”

Once she enters the jet, Peter is at a loss for words. All he can manage is a weak, “hi.”

“ _Hi_ ,” Tony repeats with a laugh. “This feels oddly like every cliché rom-com movie _ever_. But I don’t think I can let you slide with just _hi_.”

Peter feels something spread in his chest—relief, he thinks, as Tony sets a hand on Peter’s shoulder. The sun is bright in his eyes while he fights for the right words to say. “I’m really sorry, Mister Stark. I wanted to catch you before—”

“We don’t need to do this,” Tony says. “The whole _apologizing_ thing. I’m assuming you had Happy tag along with you, so it’s clear you were desperate.”

“Tony?” Pepper calls from inside. “Oh, Peter. Hi.”

Tony shoots a smile at Peter before turning toward his fiancée. “You got this one, right, honey? That okay? California loves you better anyway.”

She hesitates, glancing between Peter and Tony before giving him an annoyed yet knowing smile. After she disappears, the cabin door closes behind her.

“So—” Tony drapes an arm over Peter’s shoulder before leading him away from the jet. “Ice cream? Ben and Jerry’s just released my flavor. _Stark Raving Hazelnuts_. I’ve been dying to try it. Can we finally talk now?”

“You’re not—you’re not mad at me?”

“Kid, why would I be mad at you? You needed space.”

Peter frowns. “I didn’t need space. It was stupid. I just didn’t know how to fix it.”

Tony chuckles and says, “fix it? What needs to be fixed? You and me—we’re ace. Maybe that two months was good for us, you know? You’re always gonna be my kid no matter what you do, Pete. I always knew I was gonna be here for you the moment you returned.”

“I was afraid I really lost you,” Peter mumbles. “For good this time.”

“Face it, Pete—you couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.” 

**Author's Note:**

> D:


End file.
